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Page 45
Alinor put out her hand to him again. "How kind you are, Ian. How very kind."
To her surprise he did not take her hand, and the blood rose into his face so that even in the candlelight she could see his swarthy skin was a dark red.
"I do not know whether it is kind or not. It is simply the best thing to do. I hope you think I am a suitable man to train Adam. I can whip Simon's castellans into line. And when you summon your vassals to our wedding, they can do homage to you again, which will clear their thinking on the subject of fealty."
Alinor looked steadily into the beautiful face. The deep flush made Ian's eyes more luminous. "I believe you are right," she said softly; "for me it would be a wise thing." Then she shook her head. "I do not think it is the best thing for you, Ian."
"I am old enough to know what is best for me."
So firm a statement of an obvious untruth made Alinor laugh. Her grandfather, who had been over 80 when he died, had only known what was right, never what was best for him. The 60-odd years of Simon's life had not been long enough to teach him the difference between what was right in principle and what was best for him. Alinor was strongly of the opinion that Ian was another of the same type. Experience had made her wise. She did not attempt to explain the difference between "right" and "best" to Ian. Long ago she had talked herself hoarse on that subject.
"I do not see what is funny," Ian snapped, his voice tight with anger. "If I am no match for you in wealth, I am no pauper either. I am sufficiently a man of my hands to be well respected in tourney and battle. I am not contemptible"
"Ian! Ian!" Alinor rose and went to him, gripping his upper arms. "You are all that any woman in her right mind could desire."
"Any woman except you!"

 
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